Trichotomy
by Sorrel
Summary: Futurefic. Lex finds out about another secret identity of Clark's, and wants to know why. ClarkLex SLASH.


**Trichotomy.

* * *

**

From the very first, Lex realized that Clark was more than met the eye. Time passed, friendships deteriorated, and Superman appeared in his garish costume that still managed to be sexy because of the body underneath it, and Lex connected the glaringly obvious dots and realized that the boy who had so fascinated him back in Smallville was the Man of Steel himself. He was bitter about the deceptions that had broken their friendship, the one that was supposed to be the stuff of legends, but in the end he just accepted that Clark would always have a dual identity, and so he played his part of Sageeth in the legend and it was fine. Lex missed the days in Smallville where a boy with wide green eyes had made him believe in fairy tales again, but at least life had balance, and he could be content.

And then one day, he walks into a bar and sees Clark Kent dancing, and life as he knows it comes crumbling down around him.

Clark is dressed in black pants of some sort of slinky fabric that look like they're painted on, a pair of heavy black combat boots that are fastened by a row of wide silver buckles all the way up to the knee, and a silver mesh shirt that reveals rather than conceals tan skin stretched over muscle. He is dancing with a boy, no older than eighteen, who is dressed as provocatively as he, and as Lex watches with stunned eyes, the guy stretches up to whisper something in Clark's ear, and Clark throws his head back and laughs before grabbing the man by the hand and towing him out of the club. The door that he leaves by leads to the alley out back rather than the street, and there can be no doubt as to what they are doing.

The bartender notices him staring, and shakes his head with rueful amusement before saying, "Out of your league, man." Lex turns to pin the man with his best freezing stare.

"I beg your pardon?"

The man just smiles sympathetically at him. As if he has the right. "That's Kal. He's in and out of here every few nights, always leaving with a new toy. Never anyone older than he is, never anyone that could make demands. You're not his type- too much his equal."

_Kal._ Lex is not at all stupid, and he well remembers the reports given to him from years ago, after his impromptu stay on a deserted island. He remembers the name, and makes a mental note to have Clark checked for a certain red stone.

"You seem to know a lot about him," Lex observes. The bartender shrugs.

"As I said, he's been here a lot. Almost two years now he's been coming, and his pattern never changes. But know him? No. No one does. The only thing that anyone knows about him, or even wants to know, is that he looks like an angel, fucks like a demon, and is up for almost anything. Everyone wants him. Even rich guys like you."

Two years. It has been almost two years since Superman appeared on the scene. Lex always has been good at math. "I think you're mistaken," he tells the bartender. "I knew him, a long time ago. He was very different then. I'm just confused as to why he changed."

The bartender shakes his head like he doesn't believe him. That's alright. Lex doesn't have any need for the approval of bartenders, and there is something far more important to hold his attention. Once again Clark is a mystery, and there is nothing that Lex likes more than a puzzle to solve.

* * *

Within days, Lex has all the required data at his fingertips. Clark is not on red kryptonite. Clark-as-Kal has most definitely had as many sexual partners as the bartender had indicated. Clark and Louis Lane are partners of the platonic sort, but Louis seems to be in love with Superman. Whether Superman returns her feelings is something that even Lex's highly skilled surveillance teams can't decipher, though Lex suspects not.

Lex adds up the numbers, and comes up with an answer that is as confusing as it is complex. Clearly, for the past two years Clark hasn't just had one alter ego, but two. Superman, who saves people, and Kal, who fucks them. Superman Lex can understand, because the seeds of his creation have always been within Clark, but Kal is new and unexplainable, and Lex is mystified.

_He looks like an angel, fucks like a demon, and is up for almost anything._ This description does not fit into any lexicon he has for Clark, and it's only a short time before his obsession for the unexplained truly kicks in.

Stalking is a word with such negative connotations, Lex decides. Though in this case it could possibly be considered apt. Lex prefers to think of it as "information gathering," and he enjoys it almost as much as he used to enjoy Clark's company.

Almost.

It leans closer to stalking when he starts to go on these fact-finding missions himself. He doesn't actually discover anything that he didn't already know, except that during the day, Clark doesn't seem to have changed in any way from the farm boy that Lex used to know except in age. Useless these expeditions might be, but Lex doesn't actually consider them a bad idea until Clark actually catches him at it.

* * *

They run into each other on the street, and for a minute Lex thinks that his heart has stopped. But then Clark grins down at him and says, "You know, Lex, if you wanted to see me, all you had to do was pick up a phone," and Lex's heart starts beating again with an abrupt and incongruous _thump._ He says something that is probably witty and cutting in reply, and Clark laughs again. Somehow the two of them end up in a nearby coffee shop, talking like time never passed, friendships never ended, and hatred was never sworn. When they stand up to leave, Clark doesn't allow Lex to pay, and hands him a card. It reads: _Clark Kent, journalist,_ and is followed by a printer office number and a hastily scribbled number for his cell phone.

When Lex takes it he manages to hide the tremor in his hand, and Clark's smile is as blinding as the sunlight outside.

* * *

Lex temporarily shelves the investigation of Clark in favor of just spending time with him again. He tells himself that being with Clark is the best way to try to fathom what's going on, but in all honesty, he's just enjoying Clark. Clark was his first and last real friend, and it's unbelievably good to have that back again,

They go to ball games and sit in the front row, because Clark thinks the skybox is stupid. They go out to dinner and lunch and for drinks, and they talk on the phone and exchange email and tease each other. It's like all the good things from his earlier friendship with Clark, condensed into one long, glorious string of happy days. Clark is funny and sweet and thoughtful and very, very like the farmboy Lex used to know. Except he doesn't have that indefinable air of secrets, of things hidden deep, and Lex can't understand it. Not now, when Clark has even more to hide then before.

* * *

Lex wakes up from his first wet dream in _years_ and has about ten seconds of hazy thoughts before he realizes that his dream had been about _Clark._ Clark, his friend, Clark, his salvation, Clark, the icon of innocence. Clark who has always been as pretty a man as Lex has ever wanted to fuck, but it had never been about that with them, because Clark wasn't that person.

But now he has dreamed about Clark, about Clark rubbing against him on the dance floor, about Clark kneeling down in front of him in a dirty back alley and sucking his cock. And that's just wrong. He hadn't come in his sleep, and his erection is still straining under the sheets. Almost against his will his hand slides beneath the covers, and he jacks off to the image of Clark's pretty, pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. Afterwards he bolts to the shower, and scrubs himself clean as if he could wash away the shame. Shame, something he hasn't felt in years, and it's fitting that Clark is the one who inspires the emotion in him again.

After he is clean, in mind if not in body, he dresses and tries to think his way through the mess he has landed himself in. Apparently, he wants Clark, but he cannot allow himself to want Clark. So the answer is simple- he won't allow himself to think of Clark that way. This is a new infatuation for him, and it's not like he's ever actually seen Clark naked. He can control himself.

Unfortunately, he didn't take into account the force of years of obsession, even platonic obsession, and the amount of time he spends in Clark's presence. Twice more he jacks off thinking about Clark before coming to a new resolution- he won't come unless he can think about something _but_ Clark. Eventually he will be able to condition this out of his system.

* * *

Two weeks later he is twisted into knots of repression and frustration, wanting something that he doesn't allow himself to consider, so conflicted and so damn _frustrated_ from his rule that hasn't allowed him to come since his resolution. Everyone has always said that blue balls can't kill a man, but Lex isn't entirely sure that's true.

It is in the middle of all this that Lex has another conflict with Superman. The timing couldn't be worse, of course, but Lex long ago decided to be what Clark needed, and what Clark needed was a foil. Every good hero needs one, he once told Clark, and it holds true now more than ever. He does evil deeds, and Superman stops them. The people of Metropolis love it, and it doesn't matter that sometimes Lex is so very, very tired of being hated.

The latest attempt at evil is some sort of death-ray, which Superman destroys very capably. Lex had been the only other one in the lab, and he stands and watches, silent with something between horror and awe, as Clark incinerates the entire thing with a single intense glance. Superman gathers himself to jump, and Lex is filled with panic- the doorway is too far away for him to read- and then there are strong arms around him, and all around him is blue, blue fabric, blue sky, and the roaring inferno of his secret lab is far beneath them.

Neither of them says anything as Superman flies him across town. He lands on the roof of the Luthercorp building, and sets Lex down carefully, like he's something special.

"You know," he says, before Lex can turn and walk away. "If you wanted to play cops and robbers, you could have just told me."

And then he's gone, just a shadow against a cloud as he flies away, and Lex is left standing in blank shock, alone at the center of his empire.

* * *

It takes several days for his stunned brain to work through all the implications of those words. He has known the secret that Clark was keeping for years, but now he has to face the reality that Clark, in turn, has known what he's been up to for just as long. Clark knows him better than anyone, always has, and so it shouldn't be such a surprise that Clark has seen through him, but somehow it is.

The truly odd thing is that Clark must know that Lex knows that he is Superman, but when they next meet as Lex and Clark, as friends, Clark shows absolutely no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Lex isn't sure how Clark separates himself into parts like this, all part of the whole but seemingly unaware of the others. The trichotomy of his personality drives Lex insane, and he returns to his original purpose- understanding the meaning behind all of it.

So he starts once again to investigate Kal, the part of Clark that confuses Lex the most. It isn't hard to see a pattern in Clark's behavior- every time there is a disaster, every time Superman saves people but not everyone, every time he might be returning home covered in blood, he shows up at the club. Clark is an icon of innocence and smiles, and Superman is the sum total of American family values, but Kal is sex incarnate, with half-lidded eyes and sensuality in every line of his twisting, sweat-sheened body. The security cameras at the club instill in him feverish fantasy after feverish fantasy, and he develops insomnia after waking up from dream after dream of Clark.

The tension knots him tighter and tighter, and then one day Lex does the unthinkable, and breaks.

* * *

It has been months since he woke from that first dream of Clark, and he hasn't come in the intervening time, unable to keep his brain away from the person he wants to keep safely non-sexual, and the sheer sexual frustration drives him out of his safe penthouse and into the club district. He passes Kal's club, knows from watching the news earlier that he must be in there, but resolves not to enter. It would be self-defeating to expose himself to further temptation, but his feet won't carry him past the door, and eventually he gives in and enters.

His brief hope that Kal has already left with someone turns out to be in vain, and he stands at the edge of the crowded dance floor, staring hungrily at the brief flashes of golden skin and disordered dark hair that he can see as people move in and out of his way. He catches himself staring and shakes his head, attempting to clear it of its haze, and heads for the bar. Alcohol will help.

He barely has a chance to order a drink before he feels a presence at his back, and knows without turning that it is Kal. One large hand slides across his stomach, fingers exploring the ridges of muscle, and he feels hot breath ghosting across the shell of his ear. Against his will he shivers, and a huff of laughter chases the feeling.

"Come out and play," Kal whispers, and Lex just nods dumbly before following. He catches a glimpse of the bartender's raised eyebrows, and he suspects that it has little to do with his behavior, and everything to do with Kal seeking him out. Kal takes them as they come to him, and they come to him like bees around a flower. Lex had managed to keep himself from being drawn in, but he came out after Lex, and that is something that he has no resistance against.

They dance through three songs, Lex pressed tight against Clark's hard, hot body, and it passes in a daze of pleasure and heat. Lex's erection aches, and he gasps, his head falling back and the world spinning merrily around him, as Kal's hand slides down across his stomach and cups his cock. He rubs the calloused palm against the cloth-covered head, and Lex moans out loud, completely uncaring of the audience that they most certainly had, uncaring of his rules, uncaring of anything except the man behind him. Kal laughed, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against Lex's back, and the next thing he knew he was being dragged through a crowd of shifting bodies and towards the back door.

The cold air is a shock, and just bracing enough to clear his head a little, and he opens his mouth to protest, to stop this madness, and then Kal's tongue is down his throat and he's pressed back against a wall, one long thigh between his own and an erection pressed against his stomach. He has just time enough to thrust twice, and then Kal is gone, sliding down his body and to his knees. Lex makes a hurt-sounding gasp in the back of his throat, and Kal is undoing buttons and zippers and sliding pants and boxers down his thighs. There is a ghost of warm air over his erection as Kal murmurs, "If you wanted me, Lex, all you had to do is ask," and then Kal was going down and Lex couldn't think about anything at all.

"Oh, god," he moans, his head going back against the brick wall with a loud thunk and he's pretty sure he just gave himself a concussion but he doesn't fucking _care._ "It's been a while- I can't-"

Kal-Clark-Kal pulls off just long enough to say, "You _can,_" before he slid back down, and Lex is pretty sure that the head of his cock is further down Kal's throat than any human could ever take it, and is this what it feels like to die?

It's over fast, almost embarrassingly fast if it weren't for the fact that it's been literally months since he's come, as Kal does things to him that can't possibly be human and at a speed that definitely isn't. Coming is a completely white-out, and when it's over he's slumped back against the wall, panting and flushed, and Kal is still kneeling in front of him, smiling up at him, so fucking _happy_ and yet with just enough of an edge of a leer for Lex to remember which Clark he's here with.

"We're not finished," Kal says, carefully tucking Lex's cock away and zipping him up before standing. Lex can see the bulge of Kal's erection, straining against the tight jeans, and he wonders just how long it will be before he gets hard again. "Back to your place."

Lex is pretty sure that this will kill him, and he's pretty sure that he doesn't care.

* * *

When Lex wakes up, he's alone.

The bed beside him is still slightly warm, though, and there's a dent on the second pillow. Not a dream, then. Lex takes a long shower, luxuriating in the heat on his skin and wondering just what the hell he was thinking, and then pulls on a pair of pants before wandering into the kitchen.

There's a note on the counter. Lex's heart pound's faster as he picks it up to read it.

It's very short, and Clark's handwriting is unmistakable. _You're gorgeous when you sleep,_ it says. _Just thought you should know._ It was signed "Clark," and Lex is absolutely unable to think about what that might mean.

He's not sure, but he thinks that the warm feeling in the region of his heart might be hope.

* * *

Lex sees Clark twice in the next few days, and like the time after his run-in with Superman, Clark says nothing. Lex isn't sure what to think, but he keeps his worries to himself, knowing that Clark will not give him the answers he seeks even if he does ask. He is the only one who can put the pieces together, if he can just make them fit the right way.

Three days later, there is a landslide in Asia that kills hundreds. Superman is there, and he saves thousands, but even Superman can't save everyone. Lex waits until the news shows that Superman has left the scene, and then turns off the TV and stands, getting ready to change and head down to the club district to find Kal.

There is a slight thump on his balcony, and when he makes it into his bedroom he sees Clark, lying naked in his bed, the suit crumpled on the floor beside it. Clark is smiling at him, and in the dark Lex can't see which smile it is. He is blind, both literally and metaphorically, as he strips naked and climbs into bed, unsure of just who he is about to have sex with.

The sex is fast and rough, but he is kissed the whole time, feeling like his mouth is being made love to. When he comes, he calls out Clark's name against lips he's dreamed about, and when he falls asleep Clark is pressed up against his side, one arm wrapped around his middle like he's never going to let go.

* * *

Clark is still there when Lex wakes up, still slumbering peacefully, a little smile on his face. Lex watches him sleep, and realizes that this is what love feels like.

* * *

In the next six days, he sees Clark three times, Superman twice, and Kal every night. And yet he is unable to call them these names, even in his own head, because somehow they are not Clark, and Superman, and Kal. There are all Clark, and the looks that Clark gives him tells him that the curious division between his three selves that so confused Lex is gone. Lex wonders about it, and it is not until after Clark, as Superman, rescues him from one of his own pet projects gone wrong, carries him high into the sky and then kisses him like a lover, that he understands it.

He had long ago decided to be what Clark needed, and now he has finally managed it. He is the villain to Clark's hero. He is Clark's best friend.

And he is Clark's lover.

Three parts, three different roles to play. And by acting all three, Lex has managed the impossible, and fused Clark into the person that he was always meant to be.

He is alluring while doing the most mundane tasks. He is radiant while flying the skies of Metropolis, a figure in red and blue that Lex can never quite take his eyes off. And he is Eros incarnate in bed, as he arches and moans Lex's name.

But it is after all of this, when he lies in Lex's arms, slowly falling asleep, and mutters a sleepy "I love you," against his skin, that Lex thinks he is at his most beautiful.


End file.
